Recovery Period
by SETI-fan
Summary: Ziva settles in immediately after returning from Somalia. Not exactly Hurt/Comfort, just introspection after the events of Truth or Consequences.


Recovery Period

Setting: post-"Truth or Consequences"

Disclaimer: I own nothing

The sounds of a bustling Navy base filled the air as Ziva followed two sailors up to a small housing unit. More sailors in their crisp white uniforms walked quickly by on business. Families scuttled about, the children relishing their summer freedom from school. People watched them curiously as they passed, interested, but wary. Military families.

"Your quarters are down this way, ma'am," one of the sailors guiding her said. "Sorry they're nothing glamorous, but after being in a bunk on a ship for months, they feel like luxury to us."

"Then I'm sure they will for me too," she answered.

The young sailor smiled a bit awkwardly. They knew why she was here and were clearly trying to avoid the topic. She appreciated the consideration, but didn't care. The memories were at the front of her mind whether someone reminded her or not.

"Well, you're welcome to stay here as long as you want," the other sailor said. "Glad to help out an NCIS agent."

She felt a slight twinge at that, realizing she no longer held that title. In a way, she just felt like she'd been on a different assignment for a long time, rather than having truly resigned.

A female sailor waited in front of a unit, holding several bags in one hand and a cup in another. When she saw them coming, she straightened up and smiled. "Officer David, Ensign Ferrara. I brought you lunch and a change of clothes so you can get settled in."

"Thank you," Ziva said, taking them as the Ensign passed them to her.

"We have your key here," the sailor leading her said, unlocking the door, then giving it to her as the other of sailor held the door open for her. "If you need anything, the dining hall is down that path there and you can ask any of your neighbors about other facilities or if you need help."

"Thank you, I will be fine." She indicated the clothes and food. "Thank you."

The ensign smiled again. "You're welcome. I hope you'll like it."

All three had the disciplined, eager-to-serve look of many young American soldiers. She knew they'd been told they were assisting a POW of sorts, a former NCIS officer, and they looked at her with respect. If only they knew…

Ziva stepped inside and the sailors let the door close behind her.

_The heavy metal door slammed and the lock clanked shut, leaving her in a dark room_.

She looked around the small housing unit, her current home. It was simple but furnished with the basics needed for survival. It was actually bigger and better equipped than some places she had lived in the past, and was a mansion after her cell in Somalia. Director Vance had arranged it for her "until she decided what she wanted to do." Right now, she didn't feel like deciding anything.

She set her bags on the small table and looked at the bed, but knew if she sat on its soft blanket she'd fall asleep and not want to get up, and she desperately wanted a shower first.

Ziva walked into the bathroom and turned on the light. The clean porcelain and tile was a beautiful sight, a luxury sorely missed in the last few months.

She got a towel and soap from the bag, turned, and stopped. It was the first time she'd seen herself in a mirror in months and she didn't recognize the woman standing on the other side of the glass. Her hair was wild and tangled, her lips chapped raw from dehydration, a red mark across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were dull and shadowed and she was pale from constantly being indoors. She'd been able to wash her face at the Marine base in Africa while they prepared the flight back, but that only made her bruises and cuts stand out more.

She had walked through NCIS like this, in front of her former colleagues and friends? In front of those sailors in the Navy Yard? No wonder they'd treated her so sympathetically. Ziva had always prided herself on looking composed and professional. She hated thinking she'd looked so disgraceful and pathetic around them. She had come in as the victim rescued by Gibbs and the others, distinctly no longer _part_ of that team.

Ziva shoved those thoughts away and focused on getting the shower ready. As the water warmed up, she undressed, noting the mixture of scars and bruises on her body, fresh mixed with faded. She had never catalogued her injuries while held captive and didn't want to now. The field medic among her rescuers had concluded she didn't have any life-threatening damage and she would have a more thorough examination here once she'd had time to rest.

She piled the filthy clothes in a corner and stepped into the shower. A moan of pleasure escaped her lips as the hot water hit her skin. She winced when it contacted wounds still raw and painful, but felt her muscles relax and soften under the steady flow. The dirt of the last three months streamed off her body and ran away down the drain. Her mind quieted and for a short time she relished the pure sensory pleasure of the sweet-smelling soaps and steam after the dry desert sands and prison grime.

At last she turned off the water and wrapped a soft towel around herself, feeling human again. She had never been particularly "girly", but a wash and a shave worked wonders to wipe away the remains of a long mission and reinvigorate her. She padded out to the bag in the main room. It contained clothes with the Navy logo on them and some other items most likely picked up from the Commissary. She took out the T-shirt and slacks, clean underwear, socks, and, she was pleased to find, a comb and a hair tie.

The clothes were a bit loose; little surprise considering the lean rations she'd been survived on in Somalia, but they were comfortable. Ziva stood in front of the mirror, combing her hair and pulling it back into a sleek ponytail once more. She looked at the effect with satisfaction. The clothes hid most of her scars and finally she could tell it was herself looking back.

Except she no longer had her Star of David necklace. Saleem had ripped it off her neck the first day he captured her. It was long gone now, lost somewhere in the shadows of a cell or, more likely, hocked for the gold it was made of. She felt a pang of regret. It was the last possession she'd had left to her name, even if it had been a gift from Eli years before. Now, she truly had nothing to call her own. Her apartment here was gone, Israel was no longer home, and even her photograph of herself and Ari was likely lost within Saleem's complex, if he hadn't burned it. Even her clothes now were provided by the charity of the Navy.

She had initially come to the US as a liaison. Now she was a refugee.

But it would do her no good to wallow in self-pity. She walked back out to the main room to explore the meal left for her. The cup contained a sweet tea and the bag produced a container of chicken and vegetable soup and bread from the base's dining hall. She was hungry enough for a double cheeseburger, but the medic had said she suffered from some malnutrition and should let her digestive system readapt slowly. The soup smelled like a wonderful start.

Ziva laid out the food on the bedside table and sat down, sighing happily to feel the soft mattress give beneath her. It was likely lumpy and firm, but after a stone floor, she could have cried at the comfort it offered. Only her hunger kept her from lying down, burying herself in the blankets, and disappearing from the world. She looked around. While the air conditioner felt wonderful, its hum was strangely annoying in the otherwise silent room. She had had enough silence to last a lifetime. She found the remote and turned on the TV, glad for its distracting noise.

She skimmed past the news channels and their images of the Middle East and violence or arguing commentators. There was a movie on. She didn't recognize it. Tony would have known—

She flipped to the next channel. A game show. She watched it with a strange sort of interest, her mind eased by the bright colors and cheerful people winning prizes. It was pleasantly American, the sort of show only watched on sick days home from work, uncomplicated for weary minds. And she realized for the first time in her life that she didn't have a job to go back to tomorrow. The food, TV, and bed were a deceptive normal hiding the strange position she found herself in.

But it was slowly settling on her that she truly was back. She wasn't going to close her eyes and wake up to Saleem yelling and dragging her back to be tortured. They had come. Gibbs and Tony and McGee had actually come for her. She still wasn't entirely certain what had happened. It all had played out too much like a dream, too perfectly. Of course it would be Tony after all this time, taunting Saleem with jokes and movie references, McGee loyally along to help. And then Gibbs coming out of nowhere at the last second to destroy in a blink of an eye the monster that had tormented her for months. She had given up, accepted her death, and in less than an hour she had been on a military plane back to America with the team as if nothing had happened.

She was back. Saleem was dead and NCIS had come. Even thinking she was dead, they'd come for her when Mossad, her father, left her to die. She realized she was glaring into her soup and spooned another mouthful. She wasn't a prisoner anymore. She may have nothing to her name, but at least the worst was over and she could move forward from here.

But what to do now? She certainly wasn't going back to Israel. Walking into NCIS alongside Gibbs and the team, getting hugged by Abby – and thank God there were Abbies in the world – she wanted it all back. She wanted things to be as they were before she had returned to Israel, before Michael and Tony… There was no use in wishing, she knew. But perhaps she could at least get something back.

Tomorrow she had to go in for her full medical assessment, but after that, she intended to talk with Vance. She figured her place on the team had been filled, which caused her an irrational amount of hurt, but maybe they would at least let her work with them again in some capacity. Until then, she would need to support herself somehow. She couldn't live on the base forever.

Her bank account in Israel was a loss, she figured that. Even if her father hadn't closed it, she didn't want him to see she was accessing it or rely on his money anymore. But she hadn't closed her account in America where her NCIS paychecks had been deposited. It might still be there. She would see in the morning if she could get computer access and look into that.

In the morning. She kept thinking it was evening, but realized she had travelled back several time zones. In Somalia, her day had been ending. Here, it was just beginning.

Her body, though, still insisted it was time for sleep. But in her mind she felt gears turning that had been left to rust during her imprisonment. She had a goal again, and could strategize and plan as she hadn't been able to for months.

In the morning, she would deal with things. She would talk with Vance. She would make things right with Gibbs. The hardest part was already past: she'd seen Tony again. No, they hadn't talked about anything that had happened, but the snow had been broken. The next confrontation would be easier. At least, she hoped so.

She found herself smiling as she set her bowl aside and lay down on the bed, letting the TV drone on cheerfully in the background. Things couldn't be the same as they were before, but she could still have something good. And this time, it was her choice. Now, she was glad she no longer had her father's gold chain around her neck.

As Ziva settled into her bed to sleep, plans flowing through her head, she knew that at long last, she really was free.


End file.
